by Laura Preble
The fourth screen comes to life, and is swamped with kids sporting maple leaf gear from Canada; in the next, a crowd of kids from Brazil flashes, flows, and undulates in a safari-themed dance hall.
Then the sixth screen blinks on, but there’s no group dancing on it. It’s just a blank screen with a little office chair and I can hear what sounds like our own Geek Prom blaring behind it. “Where’s that?”
Becca puts an arm around me and grins. “Wait for it.”
A figure walks into the scene, and because the rest of the video feeds are so noisy, and because our music is also playing at ear-cracking decibels, the shadowy figure in the sixth video holds up something that looks like a cue card. HEY SHELBY, it reads. NICE DRESS. The person puts down the cue card and picks up another one. DRESSES.
I get a sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach. The person on screen six, face still bathed in shadow, holds up another card. LOOK UP. So, I do.
In the makeshift sound and light booth, I see Fletcher waving his white cue cards, flapping them in the wind like bird wings. Becca and the other girls just laugh.
“What?” I groan, leaning against the snack table. “You didn’t know about this all along, did you?”
“Sure we did,” Amber says. “Euphoria spilled the beans.”
I feel my cheeks burning. “She told you? When?”
Elisa grins. “It was about what . . . two weeks ago? It’s been really fun watching you wrestle with your conscience. Just goes to show you . . . it’s never a good idea to lie to your friends.”
“It wasn’t exactly a lie,” I stammer, but a hand covers my mouth.
“You smell like rendered bacon fat,” Fletcher says. He releases my mouth, turns me, and kisses me.
When I come up for air, I say, “That’s my new signature scent. Do you like it?”
In answer, he scoops me up in his arms, carries me to the dance floor, and starts to twirl around with me until I feel dizzy. “Why did you feel like you had to make up this elaborate scheme?” he yells over the wall of sound.
“I didn’t want to disappoint anybody,” I yell back.
He sets me down, grins at me, and points to my friends, who are all standing off to the side beaming at me. “Does anyone look disappointed?”
And then I realize something: They all love me despite the idiot I am sometimes. The Queen Geeks love me, my boyfriend loves me, my family loves me. No matter what stupid stunts I pull, no matter how bad I smell, no matter what kind of trouble I’m in with the law, they’re there for me.
“Aren’t you mad that I basically ditched the prom?” I ask, turning my attention to him.
“Honestly, it wasn’t that much fun. It was a lot more interesting watching you do contortions trying to run between events.” He laughs again, his eyes twinkling. “And when the cop pulled you over? That was priceless. Lucky for you he was just a guy from the drama department who happens to shave. Didn’t you even notice that the car wasn’t a police cruiser?”
“Uh . . . sure I did.” Well, at least I won’t be going to jail. That’s a plus.
A commotion at the entrance gets everyone’s attention. To my great surprise and embarrassment, it’s my dad with Euphoria, still in her Aunt Effie costume, in tow. He spots us, and strides over purposefully. “Dad!” I yell. “What are you doing here?”
“I never left,” he snarls, hulking through the crowd like a man on a mission. “Where is that moronic celluloid ape?” Boy, when my dad decides to curse, look out.
“You mean Melvin?” Amber asks. “He’s over there, still groping Miss Failed Plastic Surgery 1968.”
Dad marches over to the dark corner where Melvin is, indeed, still disgustingly leeching the theater lady’s face. He taps Becca’s dad on the shoulder, and he turns him around. “Are you Melvin Gallagher?”
“Huh?” Melvin asks, dazed. “Uh, do I owe you money?”
Thea has seen the drama and has come running. “Rich,” she says, breathless. “How did you—”
“My flight was delayed and delayed again, so I finally got sick of waiting and just came home in a cab. Euphoria called me after this . . . this . . .” He gestures disdainfully at Melvin. “This goon started to behave like a junior high school Casanova.”
“Supersonic hearing, ma’am.” Euphoria tugs at Melvin’s shirtsleeve and pulls him away from Maggie Crazy-Pants. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”
“Euphoria told me where you were, and what was going on. And although I was really angry about my daughter stealing my car and lying to me multiple times and in multiple ways, I realized that the one thing that was really bothering me was the way Melvin was treating someone I care—someone I love.”
“Oh, Rich.” Thea, snuffling behind a tissue, shakes her head in disbelief.
“Anyway, since my car was gone, I borrowed a Harley from the neighbors, and here I am.”
Melvin, who is still being tethered by Euphoria, says indignantly, “Well, that’s great, but could you ask your garbage disposal to unhand me, please?” He glances over at Thea guiltily. “I mean, we’re all adults here, right? What’s the harm?”
A vein in Dad’s neck is thumping and his jaw is clenched. “The harm is that you have tarnished the honor of a lady. Euphoria?”
My robot shoves Melvin, plastered foot and all, toward Dad. “Thank you, Euphoria,” Dad says, ultra polite. Then he pulls his arm back and throws a punch at Melvin that seems destined to fracture what wasn’t already broken by the cow mosaic. Melvin, taken by surprise, spins once, then falls, facedown, into the drive-in gravel.
“Oh, Rich,” Thea cries as she squeals and hugs my dad. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Can you ever forgive me?”
He hugs her, and I feel a warm glow watching my dad. He looks, honestly, happy. And Thea looks happy, not that fake happy that she’s been painting on her face the whole time Melvin has been here. Genuinely, normally, happy.
I glance at Becca to see how she’s taking it. She shrugs. “Hey, as I’ve said before, he chose the fine art over me. I am totally okay with this.” Melvin moans, and two security goons help him scrape his wounded limbs (and ego) from the stones. “Dad,” Becca says as they help him out, “just send cash next time, okay?”
As things blend back into normal conversation (as in no fist-fights, no crazy declarations, and no light shows), Becca steps away and leans against a table; she gazes up at the stars, then out at her creation, this Geek Prom that she willed into existence. For a moment, I feel bad that she doesn’t have anyone to share it with. I lean into Fletcher a little bit closer.
A long shadow falls over Becca’s profile; it’s Carl. I see him face her, but this time, he’s standing taller, even for him. They argue, and things look pretty nasty, like the mall incident all over again. But then he takes a step toward her, firmly tilts her chin toward him, and kisses her with the authority of a real, live boyfriend.
“You’re awfully stubborn,” he says.
“I am,” she agrees quietly. “But isn’t that why you love me?”
He shakes his head, picks her up off the ground, and, holding her like a baby in his arms, he gives her a long, lingering kiss that seems to melt all the fight out of her. When she comes up for air, she just says, “Wow. Where did that come from?”
Carl grins. “I got tired of feeling sorry for myself and decided to do what you always do—go out and get what I really want.”
Becca laughs softly, throws her arms around his neck and gazes into his eyes, all the anger and resentment miraculously gone. Then she kisses him.
“Well,” Fletcher says, contented, “I guess that worked out.”
The whole group, Amber, Jon, Elisa, Naveen, Evie, Thea and Dad, Euphoria, and of course Becca (who is now curiously standing really close to Carl, who looks curiously happy), all come slowly toward me. Not in a scary way like in the Michael Jackson “Thriller” video, but in the nice, happy, friendly way that makes you feel good to be alive.
With the gl
ory of geek all around us, we dance.